La Nicotine
by skyward.eyes
Summary: My Lair. An impulsive sex with a sweet boy. Strange things altogether. Griffin/David.


_**La Nicotine**_

A Fan fiction based on _Jumper (2008)_

**Summary:**

_My_ Lair. An impulsive sex with a sweet boy. Strange things altogether.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own _Jumper_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>La Nicotine<strong>_

A month and half had passed since he saved me from the electric tower. I was singing along with The Script when he suddenly came. Sorry for barging in, he said. I was in no mood for picking up a fight, so I had no choice than to let him singing along with "Live Like We're Dying". He remembered every line, not a bad singer at all, too.

After three more songs, two cups of thick black coffee, and minutes of pointless chatters, he started telling me some seemingly never-ending stories about how Parisian coffee tasted so good and how the old coffee shops smelled of weathered woods. I wonder what had pushed him into telling the story. From the way he made a sudden change in the conversation it was almost as if something had gotten into him.

He was a good storyteller, David, he told everything perfectly I could make a short fifty-page novel out of it. Then he said he was holding Millie's hand all the time, even until the time they scoured local second-hand bookstores to find old copies of Camus.

I watched how the expressions in his face kept changing animatedly the way bold colors override each other in a pop art. I watched how his eyes brimming with life every time he mentioned about Millie. She was such a beautiful girl, so more or less I understood about those spontaneous sparks in his eyes.

I lit a cigarette, my regular Dunhill and offered him one which he refused with a smile. He mentioned Millie again. She was such a beautiful girl, but she started resembling a widening black stain on a clean white canvas. It was when she started feeling every gap in his story, every scene, until every word to me started sounding like Millie, Millie, Millie…

"Hey David, ya finished?" I let out a long, leisurely breath and watched the white smoke as it melted into the transparent air.

"Oh," he said, "sorry, long story," he let out a chuckle.

"You're _really_ going to force me to listen to your _long story_ all day long," I said, "_and_ it's not like you saved me, David. I was just careless."

"Stubborn as always," he said, "say, Griffin, did I bore you or what?"

"D'ya have to ask?"

"You bet."

* * *

><p>No, it wasn't a bore. Like I said, I'd gladly make a short novel out of his Paris story. It was not until he started filling every single gap in his story with Millie that I felt as if I was forced to waste my precious time. I'd rather thumb through the dog-eared pages of <em>Lonesome Traveler<em> or some old history books about Roman Empire for all he'd care.

We sat there for a long time, gazing at the silver spots of stars against the dark indigo sky, with me chain-smoking one cigarette after another and him saying nothing.

"I should leave, I guess," he said, standing up.

"Whatever."

He didn't jump right away. I waited for a good ten seconds, twenty, half a minute, he still hadn't jumped.

"Anyway, I'd dropped Roland in a cave somewhere at Grand Canyon," he said.

"Should've let me finish him, ya know," I said.

He tapped my shoulder two times before he finally jumped. I knew he would never kill Roland, not unless it was really necessary to. The white cloud of smoke followed the shape of the jump hole for a while before it dissolved back into the air.

"You're a good storyteller," I said to the place where he'd sat a few minutes earlier.

* * *

><p>I jumped to Tokyo. I had a good time alone walking the streets after dark. The bars were alive, the young people were more or less the same. It was good to realize that I was the only person who was innocuously clad in all-black amidst the fashionable crowd. It was good to realize that I, too, can be lost somewhere.<p>

It was the kind of feeling I was always searching for.

* * *

><p><em>You're a good storyteller.<em>

He didn't have a chance to hear it, probably it was me who didn't give him a chance to hear it, after all. It wouldn't matter, I thought to myself, even if he heard it, there would be just a single 'thank you'. He probably wouldn't care at all.

Here I was, getting all melancholy, scouring the smaller streets for cheap shots of _shochu_. I always believed that time flowed backward after dark, and the lights marked its reversed flow. The term could be a faint hope for all I'd cared. I walked into the first small bar and ordered three shots altogether.

I dropped a hundred yen note after I'd finished drinking.

And I jumped.

* * *

><p>The Forum Romanum after sunset. The sky still retained its faint red-orange shade amidst the rich dark-purple tone when I arrived. I remembered the Arch of Titus located close to the rear end of the forum. I walked there in slow steps, trying to envision the Forum in better days, the noise, the people clad in linen clothes with drapes, the Emperor on the podium at the center, all of a sudden I found myself losing track of time. When I'd reached the Arch, I leaned myself to one of the pillars and tried closing my eyes for a while. The wind carried the smell of grass.<p>

Thought I'd visit the Parthenon, too, or a far-closer site to the Forum, the Trevi Fountain. But I was too tired to think about anything now, so I slept a long time. The next morning, a local guide woke me up with a light kick at the edge of my feet.

There was no time to explain.

I walked further to an area covered in trees, and jumped.

* * *

><p>"Griffin?"<p>

I ran into David at the Colosseum the morning three days after our conversation that night. The gates were still closed, and the guards were still making preparations. I wondered why, out of all places, my subconscious mind had decided to send me here.

"Hey," I said.

"Seems like we're going to be able to have a peaceful Roman holiday this time," he smiled, "now that Roland's gonna be out of service for a while."

I glanced at him and smiled back.

"Told ya," I said, "should've let me kill him."

"Nah, the best payback is to let him live," he said, walking in my direction, "to teach him that we're _different_, you know."

"Trust me," I chuckled, adjusting the shoulder position of my leather jacket and yanked the neck of my T-shirt, "nothing's gonna change anything, ya get it? Once his comrades find him, the hunt will start all over again."

"Wouldn't think that way if I were you," he said, taking off his light coat and stuffed it into his backpack, pulling out a heavy-knit scarf instead, "bad people wouldn't stay bad for ever. Anyway, it's about time for him to learn something, don't you think?"

"Whatever you say," I chucked, taking out a cigarette and lit it, "this thing is good. Light enough not to hurt your throat, too. Sure ya don't wanna try?"

He refused by waving lightly.

"Ya don't smoke?"

He didn't say anything for a while. I watched him pondering for a while, his eyes reflecting all those doubts.

"All right," he finally said with his jaw tightened, "just one."

"_Just_ one," I said, handling him one then lit it for him.

* * *

><p>We sat at the balcony for a while, watching at the light-colored morning sky. The clouds were thin, almost mingling with the background. The intensity of the sun was all right. It was a perfect kick-start for spring. The light carried a gentle, almost faint, warmth, but it was not the kind of warmth that pierces through your coat.<p>

I watched David, who was trying to handle the cigarette right. His hands were stiff, as if someone had just stuffed thick metal wires inside them. Everytime he breathed in, he'd look down as if to make sure that the thing wouldn't burn all the way to his fingers.

"Ya have to relax, David," I told him, "place your fingers behind a bit. Alright. Yeah, more like it. Ya see?" his fingers were in a better position now, right behind the filter line.

Still, he looked down everytime he inhaled. He was concentrating hard, as if there were codes before his eyes. I chuckled loudly, which he didn't care to notice at all. It didn't take long until he started coughing. At first, I thought it was because he couldn't stand the sharpness of tobacco stuffed down his throat. But he continued coughing, louder and louder I started worrying whether he'd start coughing out blood in a moment now, so I took the cigarette from between his fingers and finished it myself.

"Damn you, Griff!" he chuckled after the coughing had stopped.

"There's a first time for everything," I said. And I meant something else, beyond that messed-up smoking ritual. _There is a first time for everything._ I looked at him, but he kept on staring at the sky, smiling as if nothing was bothering him.

"No, hey, and you'd rather breathe that thing in?"

"Uh-huh."

"Can't imagine that."

"There are things you can't imagine, David," I said.

He remained silent for a while, his eyes narrowed because of the light, breathing leisurely.

* * *

><p>That night I and David went to the bridge in Paris. The bridge that was build across the Seine. We watched the lights and talked about pointless things. He asked me to teach him how to smoke, but I told him that he'd rather not, because he couldn't even hold the thing right.<p>

"Thought I'd give it one last shot," he let out an easy chuckle, as if he was trying to melt his voice with the languid wind.

I lit it, made the first long inhalation then passed it to him. He couldn't even snap the lighter himself.

Pushing the arms of his cable-knit sweater up to the elbows, he put the cigarette between his lips then started smoking. Better. The placement of his fingers was not that bad, too. He still frowned everytime he inhaled, coughed from time to time because of the strong aroma, too, but he didn't seem that he wanted to give it up.

"_Pas mal_," I said.

His thin lips arched into a smile, "Told you."

Not so long after that, he coughed hard, as if someone had stuffed a roughly-cut piece of wood into his throat. He coughed until his eyes and face turned red. I took the remaining one-third cigarette from between his fingers and crushed it using the sole of my boot.

When the coughing had stopped, he looked at me as he corrected the ends of his scarf that had slid from his shoulders. It was the kind of distant look which meaning you could barely figure out.

Then there was a long stretch of silence.

Not so far from us, a gay couple was kissing passionately right across the street. Seen from here, the entire scene looked like a painting that could be titled _C'est mon amant qui brûler mon cœur_. The taller one was wearing a large black coat, and the shorter one had on an old leather jacket. Both wore identical working boots.

Serge Gainsbourg could be heard playing faintly from a nearby coffee shop.

I reached out and kissed David intensely as if trying to catch up with the melody. I felt an immense burning in my stomach as I did so.

I didn't understand any of this. I didn't even understand myself.

* * *

><p>"Hey, I don't get it!"<p>

I said nothing. I didn't get it either.

Amidst the dim yellowish lights, I stood there stupefied, looking at him. The shape of his face was perfect. The features were there alright, as if they were newly made. His nose was a bit too pointy for such narrow jaws. It was alright, though. Clear, sharp eyes, too, and there were clean rows of teeth that appeared and reappeared as he spoke. Pale white skin contrasting against burnt-brown hair, he could as well be a character out of a Fitzgerald short story.

"I wonder," he said, looking away, "but then, you're always a bit strange."

I said nothing. In the silence I became aware of my own breathes. The cold air felt strangely sharp through my nosethrils.

"You really think so?" I asked.

"Yeah, all the time," he said. His expression was calm, as if nothing had happened. He looked strangely fine, probably it was him that was always like that.

The song had changed to Madeleine Peyroux's old song "J'ai deux amours". David leaned back against the bridge, looking at me.

"It was honest, though," he said again, "I take it as a compliment. You know, since you always struck me as the arrogant, tough type who never needs help."

I wanted to smoke to calm myself, but I chewed a peppermint gum instead.

"For someone like you, the kiss was unbelievably honest."

"Thanks," I said.

"This is getting strange," he chuckled.

"You bet."

I gave up the peppermint gum. The cold air had made it stung the tip of my tongue even worse. I took it out of my mouth and threw it to the river. I lit a cigarette, this time a Russian brand which I'd been carrying in my pocket all day long as a spare, just in case I got bored with my regulars.

"Anyway, so much had changed between me and Millie."

"I'd rather not know," I said.

"Just speaking," he said, "yesterday she told me she couldn't seem to keep up with someone who can do as easily as jumping to any bank's storerooms to steal money."

"Thought not so long ago you mentioned about having a good time with her, sickly infatuated and stuffs."

"They were different sides of a story, Griffin," he sighed, "I was about to continue when you started looking bored."

"Women change their minds real quick, ya know. Anyway, with such great talent comes a great loss. Ya'll eventually learn."

"I wonder," he said, looking at the cloudless night sky, "why people always fail to fathom things correctly. Either things are not as bad as you think or better than you think they are. Come to think of it, we never hit them right."

"Unless you're writing a novel, it is. Ya can never get something right, because yer imperfect, you know. Some people think yer good, some people think ya suck, _none_ of them is wrong."

"Real world, huh?"

"Real world," I said, offering him another cigarette, "smoking calms your nerves, eases your brain. I always smoke during hard times, keeps me human."

He said nothing and refused the cigarette. I thought he'd finally given up trying.

It was until he told me that he needed something stronger to keep him human, I understood why he'd refused the cigarette in the first place.

He grabbed me on both shoulders and jumped us to my Lair.

_My_ Lair. An impulsive sex with a sweet boy. Strange things altogether.

* * *

><p>He locked my lips against his. He pulled me closer and buried his nails on my back. We were both lying on the cold ground near the entrance. From time to time I could see the slice of sky as it engulfed the quiet desert at night.<p>

He used his fingers to trace my neck, chest, stomach, and my fly. The movements of his fingers were not masterful at all, not comfortable. If they were to be translated into notes, they would form no song. I let him do his things, though, let him feel at least he'd accomplished something. When he'd finished with the kisses I touched him back while kissing his jawbones, his forehead, his cold lips, he couldn't stop moaning. It was as if he was chewing the sensations one at a time, telling himself that he was either dreaming or trying to crawl out of it.

When the lovemaking had ended, he told me that I was really good. He even had no clue that I was really that good.

"It's just a matter of understanding," I told him.

"I don't get it," he sunk his face on my neck. His warm breaths filled in every pore.

"Like painting, or reciting poetry, ya know," I said, "in sex, all you need is repetition. Repeat, repeat, repeat, and you'll eventually refine your style."

He chuckled. His nose brushed against my neck, then an area between my collarbones.

"Say, Griffin," he said, "how come you enjoy it so much?"

"Just take it as an adventure, David, or an experiment. Like exercising to keep fit, you have to keep in mind that having sex keeps you alive, makes you stronger. It could be an illusion for all I'd cared, but at least I believe it myself."

We made love three times that night. All the time, I was the one taking the lead, stepping forward, teaching him how to do so.

By the end of our third lovemaking, his touches started resembling a song.

When we'd finished, I lit my regular Dunhill with him lying next to me.

"Keep smoking, Griff," he said, almost in half-conscious manner, "you got that bitterish taste in your mouth and on your tongue because of that. That was really good."

I pulled his head closer and kissed him on the lips, another intense kiss. He let his tongue cruised the inner flesh of my mouth.

It was indeed a song.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I modeled the sweet guy/sexy guy relationship on Nina and Lily in _Black Swan_. Griffin is such a charming character, and I think he and David would make one of the most intriguing slash pairs.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. :-)


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